![[I saw three ships]](../2005-1icon.png)
Draco Malfoy had been such an utter wanker lately, it was more than time to take him down a notch.
Draco was really good with his mouth, precise and purposeful. He'd thought he'd been sucking Pansy Parkinson's cock thanks to the magic of a little polyjuice, and he had agreed that it would be filthy hot for him to do her while she looked like that traitorous Ron Weasley, especially with The Boy Who Lived looking on.
Only a few days ago, Pansy had sold Draco on the idea that after a bit too much of the spiked punch at this evening's interhouse party, and after seeing Draco cheerfully blow his friend Ron, that Harry Potter might finally get down on his knees before Draco. Either that, or once they got Harry alone, together Pansy and Draco would encourage Harry using whatever means necessary to ensure his cooperation. Draco and Harry been posturing and blustering in each other's faces for years, and the rivalry which had continued from the hallways and classrooms out onto the Quidditch Pitch had become fodder for innumerable side bets during each Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Millicent had bet Pansy a few months back that one day, Draco and Harry were either going to just slug it out like common gutter trash, or that the two Seekers were going to end up fucking each other senseless. Pansy had bet on the second option, and she did hate to lose a bet, even if winning meant doing it herself while Ron Weasley watched.
In any case, she was so sick and tired of Draco's obsession with the damned Hero of the Wizarding World that she'd finally lost all tolerance for it. The Slytherin and Ravenclaw social circles could speculate all they wanted about her relationship with Draco, but when Draco's fascination with Harry Potter overshadowed all of the other gossip, she'd been furious, and had decided to make her move. The potions she'd needed had been complicated, but worth it. She was actually decent at potion-making, and procuring the ingredients had been much less difficult than she had initially anticipated.
Pansy prided herself on her skill at sex, but this night, she had tried to avoid all of her usual tricks as she'd fitted Draco's familiar cock between her unfamiliar Potter-shaped lips, rasped Potter's tongue along his underside, and pretended to resist Draco's pace by bracing Potter's hands against Draco's hips. She sputtered as Draco grabbed a fistful of her unruly Potter-colored hair, resisted as he dragged her skull close, nearly choked as he shoved his prick deep down her throat, and grimaced as he cursed and cursed under his breath. He worked her mouth with exactly the angle and speed he wanted and completely ignoring her reactions. He pulled out just as he neared his peak, and came all over Potter's face. She just barely covered her laugh with a cough as she wondered if he'd managed to splatter himself onto the scar.
As she caught her breath, she wondered if Draco'd ever get the opportunity to fuck Potter for real, and decided that if Draco wanted it this much, that he'd likely make it happen himself at some point. It was only a matter of time and resource priorities, after all, and Draco was a Malfoy and a Slytherin through and through.
Ron Weasley seemed to be really good with his mouth, too, enthusiastic and creative, although Pansy knew he'd thought he'd been sucking Hermione Granger's cock. Appearing as Hermione earlier in her polyjuice-fueled evening, Pansy had introduced this odd scenario to him after he'd already had plenty of the spiked punch at the party. After the falling-out between Ron and Hermione that had been the talk of the school for the past three days, he was, as expected, willing to try just about anything to stop bickering with her, including doing a bit of filthy hot penance by watching while she, appearing as Draco, would let Harry suck her off, before she allowed Ron to take his turn on his knees with his mouth wrapped around her Draco-shaped cock.
Gryffindors were such sluts, anyway. Sharing Harry wasn't exactly anything new to Hermione and Ron, and the mudblood girl was sometimes too overly clever both with magic and with her odd Muggle-tainted ideas; that much was common knowledge in certain Slytherin circles. The two Gryffindors had each spent time cuddling with Harry before, and it didn't seem likely that the three of them bothered to keep anything really secret from one another after everything they'd been through together. Pansy had been a little concerned that the scenario would be a bit beyond Weasley's tolerances, but she was glad he hadn't objected. Her contingency plan would have been more work, and it was easier this way.
The only difficult part had been waiting about dressed as Granger, foisting punch onto Weasley while Draco fidgeted about waiting for her to show up dressed as Potter, and working out the timing of the transition between polyjuice doses so she could abandon Weasley at the punch bowl as Granger, and then come back to him as Harry a few moments later with Draco in tow.
Pansy had led them both out of the party, up a narrow, winding staircase off a side alcove one floor down from the main hall, and into a long-unused classroom. She was certain that Ron had lost count of the turns on the way up and had no idea what floor they'd ended up on, and he seemed even more disoriented when Draco had swept open Ron's clothing, knelt down and inhaled his cock as though he'd done it a thousand times before. Maybe Granger wasn't going down on Weasley often enough after all.
In reality, Granger and Potter were both safely out of the way, having unknowingly had quite too much of the charming-evening fizz which until now had been a Hufflepuff specialty at the interhouse parties. Hufflepuffs never did seem to realize the true utility of their favorite potions… prolonging the feeling of a wonderful romantic evening was pleasant in dilute form, but only really useful when administered in slightly less than an overdose of concentration. Pansy suspected that the Ravenclaw fourth years had already thought of that, but so far she had no direct evidence of them actually acting on that knowledge.
Being able to see the utility, and having the determination to act on it in one's own best self-interest, now, that was what separated the men from the boys and the women from the girls, so to speak.
Pansy expected that the two brave and clever Gryffindors might have figured out by now that they might not be still dancing at the party, but it would probably be another hour before they gained enough clarity to perceive enough details of the glamour to realize that they were actually spell-locked into an out-of-the-way cupboard on the second floor. As an additional precaution, she'd maneuvered their wands into a large block of ice, and it would take that another hour or so to melt enough to allow them to unlock the cupboard by magic.
She wasn't worried. At the moment, she was rather preoccupied with recovering from her earlier and distinctly male orgasm sufficiently to pay close attention to the glorious sight of Ron blowing Draco. It was a beautiful end to a beautiful evening… everything had gone beautifully. They'd finally gotten decently danceable music at a school function; the opportunity to see and be seen in the very best fashion was lovely; and then the sight of Draco blowing a Weasley as she had watched earlier… well, she had thought that that would top her evening's entertainment. Served him right for being so… insensitive to her, and taking her for granted. Wanker.
It turned out she'd been wrong, though. Watching a Weasley blowing Draco was amazing. Hot and wet and almost sloppy in his enthusiasm, but wild and… where did he get his energy? She'd been darned near wiped out after Draco'd finished her off, but Ron showed little sign of fatigue despite his earlier unsteadiness from the punch. His fingers swirled blunt circles around Draco's balls, and he was tender without being tentative.
She almost envied Granger… if that's the way Ron would treat Hermione shaped as Draco, she supposed he must be similarly nicely artful and creative with Hermione's usual form. She wouldn't give up the striking spark and dark sparkle of the times she'd been with Draco, of course, but plain old vanilla Gryffindor-style sex might just be a welcome change now and again.
Draco himself was quite the vision. Still flying high after Harry, he was soaring higher, and letting himself go more than usual. She supposed his unusual lapse in decorum and control was a nod to her cleverness and skill in bringing off this night's encounter, but didn't begrudge Weasley that it was slightly misdirected. This way, she got to watch without the distraction of Draco's cock in her mouth, and holy hells, he was gorgeous when he lost it. Sweet sly mouth gasping open, pink lips parted, panting, moaning, eyes tightly closed, a red flush all up his chest and neck, his hair damp and tossed, and his thighs shaking with the effort to stay upright. He didn't pull out when he came, shuddering. Now that was a rarity…
She doublechecked her timepiece again. Damn, it was time for her final part of this little melodrama since her dose of Harry-style polyjuice was about to wear off… as the guys began to recover their breaths, she gathered Potter's clothing about her and said brokenly, "I feel sick. I've got to go."
She ignored Ron's call to wait for him and quickly darted down the staircase, assuming a half-drunkened, brittle stumble as she neared the small alcove, where she knew some Ravenclaw couple or two would be snogging. She made sure they noticed her as she passed, clearly appearing as Potter in unmistakable disarray, and then stumbled off toward the Gryffindor living quarters.
She made it into the old bathroom on the way with a few moments to spare before the transformation took her back to her own form, and she cleaned up only a bit before changing into her own party clothing. It was a shame to get it dirty, really, but this final piece would set the others adrift in the puzzle of her design so that no one could prove the melodrama entirely her fault. It was so gratifying, what one could accomplish with a few glasses of polyjuice, a couple of simpler potions, and a score or two to settle.
She bundled Potter's soiled, spattered clothing into a ball and stuffed it loosely behind one of the toilets for someone to find the next morning, then tossed back two great gulps of the highly illegal date-draught potion she'd left hidden more carefully in that same place earlier. She dropped its little flask in its velvet pouch sideways into the toilet and flushed it twice to make sure the toilet began to overflow before stepping out of the stall just as the potion began to take her.
She arranged herself to sprawl on the floor, careful to brace herself so her face wouldn't turn toward the floor while she slept; she had no intention of drowning, and someone searching for her in the morning must find her here, clothes soiled and quite disheveled, ostensibly with no memory of the night before.
She couldn't quite keep the smirk off her face as her vision darkened and the room spun.
![[fin]](../2005-1banner.png)